


The Once & Future King

by FermionCat



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Age Difference, Fanfiction of Fanfiction, Loki is very thirsty, M/M, Time Travel, You're Welcome, don't look at me like that I had to
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:41:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21574678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FermionCat/pseuds/FermionCat
Summary: Ever wonder exactly how theirbrotherlyprank war got started?
Relationships: Loki/Thor (Marvel)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 298





	The Once & Future King

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Stormbreaker](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15814020) by [ladylapislazuli](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladylapislazuli/pseuds/ladylapislazuli). 



> Created through the _wonderful_ feedback from [Luxis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luxis) and [Wolven_Spirits](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolven_Spirits). This wouldn’t have been possible without you guys.

Loki purses his lips waspishly at the mirror’s image.

In response, the bright morning light refracts off smooth glass and hits his eyes. He scowls. It is as though his reflection – illusion writ across illusion – is taunting him, and he refuses to retreat; instead, he challenges it for the truth of why his spell appears less-than-perfect. The face within the mirror furrows its brow in concentration: motion in response to motion. 

Loki watches the way illusory eyes flit to-and-fro as they devour his own bespelled features. His lips are pink and plump, his eyebrows lightened by a few shades until they are a colour somewhere between tawny gold and the first breath the sun takes upon stirring in the morn. They match his exotically close-cropped hair – still the most fascinating novelty Loki has ever witnessed – which is framed by a magnificent beard. It is thick and leonine and nothing like Thor’s sad attempts, shrouding his rugged jawline and weighting his visage with experience unearned. 

Perhaps Loki ought to have been somewhat more furtive about this experiment, for if Father dispatched his ravens to spy... he perishes the thought. To wit, there is no reason for anxiety. He is merely practicing his spells, and it just so happens that glamours require a focus, and Stormbreaker happened to spring into Loki’s mind. Which is altogether not _not_ understandable, what when the man left on some quest or other _without even saying goodbye as he’d promised_. 

Loki frowns at the mirror and tries to recollect his composure, which flusters with such disconcerting rapidity at the sole thought of that infuriating man. Where was he? Right, something did not seem quite right...

Ah. Of course. Doing his utmost to _not_ think about its restrained destructive power – like a lion’s sheathed claws – he ghosts a massive, tanned hand over his newly rough-hewn features such that a long, wicked scar erupts in its wake, cleaving immovable rock in two until a vast gorge bifurcates perfect male beauty, the man’s perfection splayed open and turned vulnerable. Touchable.

Those haunted eyes divert him, gleaming and beckoning with a siren’s call from underneath the cliff-face. It must only be a trick of the sunrise, whose shining golden rays neatly pierce the twin barriers posed by window-glass and wavering propriety, and yet… 

Stormbreaker's eyes are such _fascinating_ things: capable of boundless, soulful depth in true testament to his sagacious mien, yet backlit by the banked embers of latent intensity. Loki may have flawlessly mimicked the exact goldenrod and lightningbolt-blue hues of Stormbreaker’s irises, but he cannot make mockery of Stormbreaker's effortless, earnest charm, nor the tangible, lion-hearted grief that lends such a mesmerising darkness to the man’s otherwise superficial beauty.

Instead, his glamour’s electrifying eyes sparkle with calamitous mischief. For where _he_ might leverage pranks to tease and taunt by turns, Loki’s innate nature transforms into something else entirely upon Stormbreaker. The wily look that he has been cultivating as the God of Mischief is.. It is…

Loki gulps. That roguish expression with Stormbreaker's features looks nothing short of suggestive. Catastrophically so. Ymir’s teeth, the man’s smirk alone is appealingly wicked. Stormbreaker’s eyes twinkle, withholding untold secrets and Loki _knows_ that curiosity is one of his flaws, but the man’s reticence is nevertheless equal parts intriguing and infuriating. The man has made him mad by enigma; one does not simply come into such awe-inspiring might without penetrating the unknowable. Loki cannot help but wonder at the other skills Stormbreaker suppresses beneath earnest charm and swelling, tawny musculature.

By Odin’s spear, his musculature. 

He can hardly think but for the possibility of it; it is as though he has been hypnotised by a spell of his own weaving. His mouth waters, forcing him to swallow hastily or else risk reconciliation with the fact that he had been _drooling_ over the man. It is unbecoming; he is a prince of Asgard. 

Even within the dogmatic safety of his own thoughts, he knows that the distinction is piddling at best. Stormbreaker is a true warrior: well-endowed with a grown man’s experience. The scar marring his brow is proof of his hard-won wisdom, so much like the All-Father’s. Although, unlike Odin, Stormbreaker's scarred eye seems to be thankfully intact. And all the better for it, for that haunting golden hue makes him appear more beast than man: an embattled but prideful lion in the prime of his reign, the once and future king with the entirety of the nine realms beholden to his effortless sway. 

A ripple of electricity prowls its way agreeably up Loki’s spine. For Stormbreaker's lion-eyes are predatory; not through intent, but rather sheer force of nature. Even now Loki can do nothing but stare breathlessly as the man’s image stalks nearer, pinning Loki with his luminous heterochromic eyes and the steady, thrumming rumble vibrating from deep within his chest until there is absolutely no hope of escape.

Loki blinks. Somewhere along the way, he has pressed himself into the mirror’s sheer plane, where lies the vast plain of Stormbreaker’s chest. He is panting; from what, he cannot fathom.

Perhaps it was Loki’s mind that tricked him into delusions of Stormbreaker's electrifying presence, but it is _Stormbreaker's_ hot, humid breath that fans gently over Loki's brow, his nose, tugs at the delicate, sensitive skin of his lips, entreats and flatters him until he is smitten, wholly willing to tilt his head back and bare his throat in helpless surrender, so as to allow the great beast whatsoever he pleases, but rather than heated teeth tearing into his flesh, Loki _feels_

warm, sultry lips moving carefully against his own, nipping with glassy cold and coaxing out sharp little gasps of crystallised longing; the rough scratch of beard dragging across tender, oversensitised skin until he is overcome by the tiny white-hot shocks of intermingled pain and pleasure and he cannot help the low groan unfurling from the tightly-wound coil of his belly when Stormbreaker pulls it out through his panting lips and _is that how the man would sound in bed?_ low and guttural and rumbling with the crack and boom of an oncoming storm and it feels like maybe the whole world trembles before its mighty onslaught or perhaps it is merely the quaking of his own limbs before he surrenders his not-quite-silvery tongue to the golden lion’s passionate maw –

"Brother!"

The illusion shatters when his elbow slips awkwardly, crashing upon the wrought-wood table in a fantastic bloom of pain. Loki sputters and curses with all the vehemence his princely station can conjure. 

When he looks up at the interloper, he sees only his brother standing stock-still, his mouth a perfect round 'o' of surprise. 

"What, oaf?!" Loki snarls, well aware that his face is still fiery and red but hoping it disguised beneath Stormbreaker’s image.

Thor tilts his head to one side, scattering tawny golden curls in a careless display of confidence. He squints his electric-blue eyes in passing thought. “Was that your _mirror_ you were kissing?” 

"Has our mother never impressed upon you the courtesy of knocking?!"

"I did knock," Thor replies with infuriatingly earnest, effortless charm. "For several minutes, as a matter of fact. You did not hear me."

"You– Wh– _HOW MUCH DID YOU SEE?!_ " Loki shouts.

"Enough," and has the nerve to look _smug_ about it. Loki wants to throttle him.

"I am gladdened," Thor continues, upsetting Loki's vengeful plotting, "to see you finally taking an interest in worthy suitors, Brother mine." 

Then ruins the effect by waggling his leonine brows suggestively.

"You will say nothing of this day!" Loki hisses, but he is too late, for Thor is already grinning sunnily.

"I shall aid you in this endeavor, Brother!" Thor shouts as he exits Loki's chamber with purpose, no doubt off to ruin someone else's day with his incessant prattle, and _does he not realize that his voice carries?!_

Loki vows that he will slip a snake into Thor's bed tonight.


End file.
